After All
by Snowviolet
Summary: House never realized how revealing it can be to face your fears. They say the path to hell is lined with good intentions, but its as good a place as any to start when confronting the truth of what is between him and Cameron.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: My first ever House fic! I couldn't get to sleep until I wrote this little story out. Not sure if I should continue or leave it as a one-shot, so let me know what you all think. **

_

* * *

_

_What a shitty day. _

House leaned further back in his chair, watching as Cameron slipped out of the nearby room inobtrusively. She had tried to hide the hurt and betrayal in her eyes but had failed miserably. He'd bet $40 she was crying before she got to the elevator. Foreman continued reading his magazine as though nothing had happened, which worried him more than a little. He had heard their discussion, and had chosen not to get involved. Although probably not for the reasons most people would think.

He wasn't a knight in rusty armor, ready to rush to his lady love's side and defend her honor. He wasn't even a moderately professional department head who would step in and lay down the law about intellectual property within academia. There would be no reprimands on his part towards his wayward neurologist's choice of case studies to base his article on.

But it wasn't because he was a heartless bastard who got his kicks watching other people's misery.

Ok, scratch that.

He _was_ a heartless bastard who got his kicks watching other people's misery, but not in this particular situation. He couldn't become involved because he cared too much, not too little.

He had once told Cameron that she needed him because he was damaged. That she wanted to "fix" him, to in essence change who he was. He didn't want her pity or her selfless devotion, and he definitely didn't want to change. Being miserable was his thing. He had lots of experience at it, and if there was ever a need for a professor of Misery 101, he was their man. Between the pain and the pills, his life held a modicum of normalcy. Well, it was normal for _him_ anyways.

So if she thought that he was a misanthrope who hated the world and everyone around him, at least it kept her from getting too close. When that didn't work he always could fall back on the endless mind games, or tossing out insults each time he felt himself slipping. It seemed effortless to those around him, but he struggled with the increasing tension between them. He balanced upon Occam's razor with exquisite care, screaming at the top of his lungs in every way he could that he was a self-absorbed asshole with no compassion for anything or anyone, as long as it distracted from the truth.

Everybody lies. Even himself.

KISS…Occam's razor…de Nile ain't just a river in Egypt.

It all amounted to the same thing. Sometimes the most obvious theory explains even the most complicated of phenomenon. Or men.

He was afraid of what might be, of the possibility of being happy, or the chance that he would love her and then fuck it up like he always did. Better to never take that risk in the first place, and avoid all the hurt and misery of losing her. He was doing her a favor. Really.

Fuck, who the hell was he kidding? Everyday he found himself changing in little ways and they weren't even dating. Her comments and arguments didn't fall on deaf ears, despite the impression he gave. She was a Pollyanna with a disgusting amount of optimism and faith in human kind. She probably even cried over Christian Children Fund commercials late at night and was sponsoring half a dozen orphans in Guatemala. But that insane moral compass of hers was like an unwanted angel on his shoulder who wasn't above using the devil's pitchfork to get her point across.

He had debated the pragmatism of informing the girlfriend, and yet he had felt disgust when he confronted the patient after the transplant. Maybe he shouldn't have sedated her before the surgery, maybe he had robbed her of her selfless act of human grace that Cameron was always claiming people were capable of. It didn't go unnoticed by him that the much argued-over article Cameron had written had been about the ethics of informed consent. The events of the day had him questioning everything from whether his obsession with curing the patient dictated his actions to whether or not he had handled the dispute on his staff appropriately.

It had taken him years to admit that it wasn't an act, that she really was sincerely _nice_. It felt like a dirty word even now in his private thoughts. And it had taken even longer to admit that it wasn't an infatuation or psychological malfunction on her part when she said she cared about him. He _was_ damaged, but she embraced the shadows in his soul as easily as the rest of him.

That sort of genuine emotion was rare and should be treasured, not stomped on. She was better off with someone like the good Doctor Sebastian Charles. Hypocritical fucker. He almost had convinced her to go back to Africa with him. He wasn't good enough for his Cameron.

House cursed at the tangents his mind was flying off into. The day's events were too significant to pass quietly and he was dealing with a decision that could change his entire life going forward. They were both too deeply tangled in whatever it was going on between them for him to pretend otherwise. He hadn't stepped in like he should of because he wanted any respect she garnered to be earned on her own credentials. He respected her as a doctor too much to act the avenging and slightly-enamored boss every time someone didn't play fair.

Life wasn't fair, but she acted like there was a big scoreboard that listed every time someone cheated. He wished the lesson hadn't been served by someone she was so close to, though. Foreman's betrayal had hurt her far more than the article, and even he was surprised at the harshness in which he had dealt with Cameron. He narrowed his eyes and watched the neurologist pack up his things to leave for the night.

He might have Cameron fooled about how he felt, but not everyone else was so oblivious. House knew Wilson and Cuddy must have a betting pool as to how long it would be before he caved to his pert immunologist. He almost wondered if Foreman had been testing him, to see if he would rush to Cameron's rescue or be equally snarky to both of them. He may have played Foreman's game this time, but he would have to set the little fuck straight about who ran the department. Just because he had abstained from getting involved on principle didn't mean he hadn't wanted to practice his golf swing on various parts of Foreman's anatomy when he had taunted Cameron.

His real dilemma was what Cameron would do after a day like today. She had been strung tighter than a drum when she'd left, and although it pained him to admit it, he was worried about her. If today had been shitty for him, it must have been hell for her. Even someone with her strength of will could break given time. She might be a Pollyanna of medicine, but dammit, she was _his_ Pollyanna. The world didn't need another bitter and broken asshole like him. Should he go after her, or should he stay?

House pulled out his trusty bottle of pharmaceutical goodness and juggled it back and forth in his hands as he debated what to do. Flipping the lid and tossing back two of the bitter pills, he wondered if he could beat rush hour traffic on his bike if he took the crosstown.


	2. Chapter 2

The twenty minute drive over to Cameron's apartment had House second-guessing his motives. Revealing his concern to her didn't seem quite as urgent as he turned into the suburban neighborhood that her apartment was located in.

What the hell had he been thinking? It had been so long since he had actively tried to be compassionate that she'd most likely think he had come over to torment her; that he needed to get in his asshole quota for the day. He'd just end up looking like an idiot and she'd be even more miserable by the time he left.

House came to a stop at the red light and gazed down the street warily. Oh sure, it looked harmless enough. The avenue was lined with cherry blossoms which swayed in the early spring breeze, and the block was quiet except for the occasional barking of backyard fidos. But at 302 Maryland Avenue there was a petite woman who posed a greater threat to him than angry patients or his addictions ever would.

Because she made him feel. And worse yet, he couldn't numb her out of his reality with the pills, or the booze, or the hookers…or any number of other things he had tried.

God, but he had tried.

He stared pensively through the falling pink petals and tried to make out her condo down the block. Maybe he had misread the despair on her face as she had left for the day. She was probably kicking back margaritas with her gal pals and laughing off the whole day like it had never even happened. …Or maybe he was a coward who had no right to pretend he was human by reaching out to her.

A designer minivan with requisite soccer mom pulled up beside House at the light, and a pair of brown eyes met his own jaded blue. A little boy who couldn't be more than five gawked at his bike like it was the coolest thing _ever_.

Hmph. House scowled and gave the kid his nastiest glare, daring him to look away. They continued their staring contest until the light turned green and the boy gave him a toothy grin and stuck his little hand up to the window in the gesture of cool guys everywhere.

Thumbs up. Rock on, man.

Right. He'd just drive by her building to see if her car was parked out front. If it wasn't, no big deal, he'd keep going until he reached that bar near Parker Street and call Wilson over to buy him a ridiculously expensive import beer. He'd always wanted to go there anyways, and he could just pretend this messy introspective had never happened.

House slowed as he approached the brick condo and gazed up at the corner window that he knew was her apartment, but he didn't notice any lights on in. Perfect. Miller time, it is.

He would have pulled away if he hadn't felt that slight tinge of disappointment that came out of nowhere. Without even thinking, he turned around the corner of the condo to the back parking lot and sure enough there was Cameron's blue Prius parked at the curb. Boring, economic, and environmentally conscious all in one package. He'd been teasing her about it relentlessly since she had bought it last month.

Searching the back view of the building, he noticed a lone figure sitting on the porch swing. She looked more serene than he would have expected, slowly swinging back and forth with a bottle of Heineken in her hand. The chains of the swing creaked lightly as she pushed her foot against the railing, and she didn't even notice him as he took off his helmet and unfastened his cane from the bike.

As he walked up the walkway, he stopped thinking about what he should or shouldn't say and examined Cameron warily. She looked slightly rumpled, still in her work clothes, and there was a dazed look in her eyes that hadn't been noticeable from a distance. He was almost standing next to her before she noticed his presence, and let out a small squeak of surprise as she spilled a bit of her beer.

House leaned against the porch railing and held up his hands in front of him. "Whoa there, cowgirl! Settle down. No need for alcohol abuse, what did that Heineken ever do to you?"

Cameron didn't even rise to the bait; she just shook her head and chuckled under her breath. "What do you want, House? I'm too tired for your infantile games tonight.

"I'm wounded!" He laid his hands over his heart as though in pain. "I figured they would at least rate as juvenile."

Cameron's lips didn't twitch in the manner that usually revealed her amusement at his antics. Instead she took a deep breath that revealed her frustration. "Listen, its Friday night and I'm not on-call. I'm not working your clinic hours, and I'm not doing any other of the dozen other things you came out here to con me into. So unless you want me to bill you for my time, make it quick."

House frowned down at the dark-haired immunologist, silent for a long moment. Then he lifted his cane against the metal chain of the swing, bringing it to a stop. "Move over and give the cripple some room."

Cameron gave a disgruntled huff but did as he asked. She then stared straight ahead at the sunset, ignoring him. House ignored her ignoring him, and chatted with himself as though she were participating in the conversation.

"Shitty day."

He glanced at her face for any reaction, and saw her mouth tighten slightly. "Hell of a sunset, though."

And it really was. Soft pinks and peaches blurred into brilliant reds and purples as the sun sank slowly in the skyline.

House laughed as though she had said something incredibly funny. "Yeah, I find a cold one takes the edge off, too." He leaned back in the seat, getting more comfortable. "Numbs me enough so I can sleep, in spite of those troublesome morals and junk."

Again, no response. Although he did notice her knuckles turning white around her bottle of beer.

House took over the pace of their swinging, pushing off with his good leg. "I know, I know. Big shock, huh? Well maybe not the whole drugs and booze part." He gave her his best eyebrow waggle to no avail.

His voice seemed very clear in the quickly-darkening dusk. "But you can't be bothered by something or someone unless you care, even if it's just a little bit."

Cameron glanced at him sideways and nodded slowly.

"It was easier before you came." He threw it out like a gauntlet, daring her to respond.

She didn't disappoint.

"Maybe it's easier not to care?" Cameron countered, taking a long draw of her beer. "If you don't care, you're never disappointed when people abuse your trust or concern. You taught me that, House." She raised her bottle in his direction in a toast.

"Maybe anything worthwhile shouldn't be easy."

"Maybe…" She conceded, beginning to wonder if they were talking about the same thing. His blue eyes were very serious now as he looked at her, and it set her on edge. "Why _are_ you here, House?"

He looked away at the question, and screwed up his mouth as though he was chewing on something bitter. It seemed as though he would bolt at any sudden movement, which made the phenomena even more fascinating to Cameron.

Finally he found the right words and leaned forward on his cane, his tone even instead of the condescending one she was used to. "The others treat you like you're the little woman of the group, always mothering everyone, naïve, _harmless_."

Cameron scowled, taking offense at that word in particular. He chuckled at her expression and watched the last golden rays of the sunset dipping behind the trees in silent finale.

"Fact is, you're the only one with the balls to back up your ideals. Even when it's not the popular choice." He paused for a moment. "Or to go toe to toe with me when you know I'm wrong.

"Like today."

Cameron blinked at her boss, sure she had misheard him. Was this the same man who had threatened to fire her if she gave full disclosure to the patient? Hadn't he sedated the woman rather than give her the chance to be honest to her girlfriend? Yet now the infallible Dr. Gregory House was saying that he had been wrong?

Cameron eyed her Heineken warily. It was clearly a hallucination brought on by one too _few_ beers.

She glanced up at House and found that he was watching her intently, gauging her reactions.

"You…think that what you do doesn't matter, that you're an idealistic fool who is repeatedly punished by fate for giving a damn."

He awkwardly pulled himself to his feet and looked away, avoiding her eyes.

"It matters to me."

And with that said, he quickly plodded down the porch stairs towards his bike. Cameron watched him zip down the alleyway with a look of wonder on her face. Change was in the air.


	3. Chapter 3

A bible thumper, a mad hatter cop, and a dying "colleague". It had been a stressful couple of weeks, even by his standards. It was all very dramatic, what with Foreman making it out of danger by some sort of miracle, but House had more important matters on his mind.

First of all, every single vending machine in the east ward was out of M&Ms. There were no plain, no peanut, not even the crappy crunchy variety with the gross malted centers. It was a travesty that he had to walk all the way to the Maternity ward to get his chocolate kick. Skittles just didn't bounce off the patients in the waiting area nearly as well when he threw them from the balcony.

Secondly, Foreman was acting like a born-again Doctor Strangelove. Something about having a near-death experience making him appreciate life and those around him, blah blah blah. And of course Cameron had fallen for that bullshit deathbed apology. Add Father Wombat, and House was convinced he was going to walk into the office one morning and find them holding hands and singing Kumbaya.

But the last matter was truly the most maddening. Cameron was acting like _nothing_ had happened since he had gone to her place.

There had been no casual mention of how he had tried to comfort her; no third-degree about how he felt, or if he _like-_liked her. Their playful banter was noticably absent and she wasn't delivering his coffee with coy smiles anymore. She hadn't made googly eyes at him in over a week!

The result was a very cranky House who stalked the hospital corridors with a scowl plainly advertising his belligerence. Turning the corner into Oncology, he knocked down a nearby "Caution - Wet Floor" sign with his cane, noting that it wasn't nearly as gratifying as he'd hoped. Wilson was no where in sight, but it was only a matter of time before his staff alerted their boss to his presence.

It was a game of sorts. He would make a grand entrance into the ward, and then rush to search through Wilson's desk and cabinets for something to steal before he showed up. So far he had only been caught once, but given that he had been smoking the joint that he had stolen, it _so_ did not count.

He rattled the locked drawers of Wilson's leather and mahogany monstrosity of a desk, muttering at his friend's forethought. Only one of the file drawers open with a little coaxing from a letter opener. He found the expected patient charts, office supplies, and chewing gum inside and slammed it shut to spin in the chair. _Bor-ing_. But he stole the gum anyways.

His window of opportunity for larceny was quickly closing, so he scanned the office one more time and caught a shine from atop a nearby bookshelf. Wilson's brand new Blackberry lured him with it's siren song and he dropped it into his coat pocket just as the head of Oncology stepped inside. At least _something_ was going his way today.

He spun around in the chair to face Wilson and glanced at his watch. "Two minutes and 15 seconds. If the nursing staff improves their response time any more I'll have no choice but sneak in the back door."

"It's locked." Wilson pointed at a newly-installed deadbolt that he hadn't noticed on the door. "And you only ever come to my office when you need to talk, so I hardly think that sabotaging their response time is in your best interest." Wilson said mildly, looking over the office as though making sure everything was still in place.

"I only ever come into your office when I want to surf for porn. I'm sure the IT staff is puzzled by your fascination with transgendered midgets." House twirled his cane, clearly having no intention of rising from the comfortable leather chair. "On a brighter note, it's probably why Helen in Pediatrics has been such a flirt lately. I think her grandfather was one of the original seven dwarves."

Wilson snickered, and plopped down on the nearby sofa. "Spill it, House. You didn't come here to talk about my sex life, or lack thereof. Cuddy's looking for you, so you only have so much time."

House grew silent for a moment, pensively staring at Wilson's collection of paperweights. "I told Cameron that I care about her."

Wilson goggled at him in disbelief. "…you told Cameron that you care about her?"

"Two weeks ago." House grunted.

"…two weeks ago?!" Wilson repeated dumbly.

"Yes, Captain Obvious! I didn't come over here to listen to you repeat everything I say."

Wilson sat up on the couch and held up a palm. "Wait a minute, you told Cameron that you care about her two weeks ago? I just saw her in the cafeteria and she wasn't exactly floating on sunshine and rainbows."

"I know! She's acting like nothing even happened!" House ran his hands through his hair out of frustration. Wilson was shocked, House _never_ showed nervous habits. Hell, it had taken him years to learn his tells in poker, the man was so good.

"Is this some sort of female mind game? Bring me low and then go in for the kill?" House said bitterly.

"Oh yes, I'm certain that she sits up at night thinking up these brilliant plans to torture you. " Wislon rolled his eyes. "Come on, this is Cameron we're talking about. She hates mind games and practically oozes honesty." He suddenly eyed House suspiciously. "What _exactly_ did you say to her, House?

"I told her that she was right, and I was wrong, dammit!" House said in a sulky voice. "That her opinion matters, and I value it, blah blah blah."

"And?" Wilson prompted.

"And _what_?" House peered at his friend with a puzzled look.

"And what?!" Wilson yelled back. "Christ! I know it's been a long time since you've had any action that wasn't paid for by your credit card, but you cannot possibly be that big of an idiot."

"You're fucking Jewish, you don't even believe in Jesus!"

Wilson spoke to his friend like he was a mentally-challenged three year old. "Listen very carefully to me, House. You essentially told her that she's a valued member of your diagnostics team. What did you expect her to do? Start picking out china patterns?"

"Like you said, it's Cameron! She can read between the lines." House defended himself, but it sounded lame even to him.

"Why should she have to? She's a drop-dead gorgeous, intelligent woman. She has her choice of men to date." Wilson pointed out logically. "Not to mention, you've been so utterly obnoxious to the one person who thinks you have redeeming qualities, that she probably won't believe it unless you send smoke signals."

House slumped a bit in his chair. Wilson was right. Why would Cameron want to date a cripple who was twenty years her senior? Not to mention, he was her boss. It was a human resources nightmare just waiting to happen. If he cared about that sort of thing.

Noticing his friend's collision with reality, Wilson countered. "But…she obviously likes lame. As has been proven by the fact she conned you into a date."

His friend nodded slowly, perking a little.

"She's been doing all the pursuing, House. If you want her to take you seriously, you're going to have to show her that you _are_ serious." Wilson said soberly. "You've shown the emotional capacity of an earthworm up until now. Don't screw this up, you might not have another chance."

House cursed loudly and creatively at his friend's advice, but knew he was right. "So what you're saying is that I'm going to have to make a complete ass of myself?"

"Even more so than usual." Wilson replied dryly, patting him on the back.


End file.
